


In Which Grantaire Is Often Drunk

by whatpassesformymind



Series: Paint Splatters [AU] [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatpassesformymind/pseuds/whatpassesformymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire needs stress release, and Jehan wishes their apartment had thicker walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Grantaire Is Often Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> This is set at some point before 'In Which Enjolras Is Painted'

He’d only had two drinks, but Enjolras was glaring at him like he was something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe and Grantaire really, really needed a distraction.

Courfeyrac wasn’t at all averse to casual sex, as Éponine and more surprisingly Marius could testify. He was also more intuitive than he usually let on.

Grantaire didn’t even have to ask him outright. Although, resting his hand on Courfeyrac’s thigh wasn’t exactly subtle.

* * *

 

“Are you sure we should be- Enjolras- and,”

“Fucking hell Courf, you really want to bring that up right now?” Grantaire pushed him up against the door, kissing at his neck. Courfeyrac gasped.

“Mmm… maybe not,”

* * *

 

Jehan set his pen aside and glared at the wall. Loud moans and louder expletives weren’t particularly conducive to writing poetry. Or to sleeping.

“ _Fuck_ , now, please, more…”

He banged his fist on the wall. Silence fell.

“I’m going to sleep. Shut. Up.”

He was proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

“Okay – _fucking_ – sorry.”

Jehan pulled the duvet around himself, hoping to block out the sounds.

* * *

 

“ _Enjolras!_ ”

They probably heard that downstairs, Jehan thought, pulling his pillow over his head.

* * *

 

Midday saw Courfeyrac wandering out of Grantaire’s room after another round, even louder than before. He looked thoroughly debauched and utterly shameless, grinning at Jehan.

Jehan smiled back, a little half hearted, and returned to texting. Grantaire emerged after Courfeyrac with a sheet wrapped around his waist.

“S’later Courf,” he muttered before heading into the bathroom.

* * *

 

The Musain was quieter than usual that night. Marius was staring at the table, deep in thought, while Enjolras and Combeferre discussed their classes or something equally fascinating in the corner. Bahorel was missing, as was Joly, who claimed he had the flu. Feuilly was folding one of the paper menus into a boat and Jehan scribbled rhyming couplets on the corner of another.

Only Courfeyrac and Grantaire were loud and boisterous, challenging each other to stupid dares and drinking games.

“Take a drink every time Bossuet knocks something over.”

“Kiss that dark haired waitress when she brings our drinks.”

“Courf that’s _Éponine_. The one that watches Marius all the time.”

“So?”

The ideas got worse (and less original) the drunker the pair got.

“Steal Jehan’s poetry.” Courfeyrac probably thought he was whispering. Jehan shot them a dirty look.

* * *

 

Jehan almost screamed when he opened the front door and a body fell at his feet.

Grantaire dragged himself into the apartment, blinking up at Jehan.

“You do realise that the door is never locked?” he pointed out once he’d gotten over the shock of finding Grantaire sleeping on the floor. Grantaire thought for a moment.

“Couldn’t open it.”

Jehan sighed, and fetched some water. He was going to be late for class anyway.

“That’s what you get for being stupidly drunk.”

Grantaire glanced up, surprised. Jehan was usually kinder than most when it came to his drinking – when they weren’t skirting around the matter like it might bite them. He tried to think back to what might have offended him.

Oh.

That would do it, yes. You had to be blind not to know how Jehan felt. But surely he knew it had just been friendly, a casual fling. Stress release, mostly. Grantaire opened his mouth to explain, only to realise that Jehan had already left.

* * *

 

It was two weeks before they had the conversation. The tension in the apartment had been unbelievable, but it went unnoticed by their friends. They were all too busy being amused by Marius’ crush on Valjean’s daughter.

“She’s like an angel!” Marius proclaimed, sighing and refreshing her Facebook page. Grantaire snorted, and ordered another drink. Éponine slammed it down in front of him, attention focused on Marius and his lovesick ramblings.

“Grantaire, you coming? I’m giving Jehan a lift,” Combeferre called.

* * *

 

“It was only sex, y’know.”

“Yeah.”

Grantaire pulled Jehan towards him, curling up on the sofa with him almost in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more sincere than Jehan could remember him being

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Jehan smiled slightly. “Except possibly for screaming ‘Enjolras’ at two in the morning.”

“Oh god,” Grantaire hid his face in Jehan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you said that too,” he teased. “Really though… It’s okay. He’s never going to notice me”

“He said your name,” Grantaire blurted out.

The regret was almost instantaneous. He should not have said that. It was Courfeyrac’s secret to keep. Apparently he was drunker than he had thought.

He tactfully ignored Jehan’s tears, and eased him off of his lap before heading to his room.

[from: Grantaire | to: Courfeyrac | 00:07]

_im rlly sorry._

Courfeyrac was going to kill him.


End file.
